ICE CRACKER II
by
Lindsay Buroker
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 by Lindsay Buroker
* * * * *
Amaranthe ran alongside the frozen lake, thighs weary, calves sore, ragged breaths steaming before her. The short sword belted at her waist felt ten times heavier than it was. An inch of fresh snow blanketed the trail, and thick flakes wafted from the steely sky. They stuck in her lashes and melted down her flushed cheeks.
The marker came into view, and she dug a pocket watch free as she passed it. She groaned at the time, shoulders slumping.
"Maybe I can blame the snow," she muttered. "Or the cold. Or maybe I can blame—" She rounded a bend and almost tripped over two bodies sprawled across the path, "—the dead soldiers on the trail," she finished, voice cracking as the breeze shifted and the butcher shop stench enveloped her.
The soldiers, recognizable by their black uniforms and military-issue pistols, had died recently: slit throats poured steaming blood onto the white trail. A tangle of scuffs and footprints trampled the snow around the bodies, but no trails led away from the scene.
Exercise forgotten, Amaranthe yanked her sword free. She crouched and surveyed her surroundings, wondering where the killer had hidden to launch the ambush—and wondering if that killer might be there now, waiting to do it again.
Without their foliage, the skeletal apple and maple trees lining the lake offered little cover. A hundred meters ahead, the industrial section of the city began. Deep, dark alleys ran between warehouses and factories whose smokestacks belched black ribbons into the low gray clouds. Anyone hiding in those alleys would have had to race across a field of snow to reach the soldiers though. Closer to her, a gas lamp sputtered at the head of the first of hundreds of docks lining the waterfront. The dark hollow beneath the boards held her gaze. Between the snow and the coming dusk, the lighting was poor; someone might well have hidden beneath the dock.
Even as she watched, a crunch sounded. Someone shifting weight on the snow? Her grip tightened on the sword.
The self-preservation part of her mind suggested returning to her jog and leaving this mystery to another. But thanks to a frame job by a late enemy, she was wanted for conspiring to kidnap the emperor. She wanted exoneration, and for that to happen she needed to seek out noble—and notice-gaining—tasks. This might be the opportunity she needed.
Amaranthe stepped off the trail. At first no footprints marred the bank, but, six or eight feet off the well-tamped path, fresh boot marks indented the snow. Quite a jump, but not impossible.
She followed the prints down to the dock. Anticipation quickened her heart, and quick puffs of breath appeared before her eyes. The snow muffled the city sounds; the waterfront stood eerily silent.
When she reached the dock, she crouched, half-expecting someone behind the pilings. Nobody was there. A couple of packs and bedrolls lay tucked in the shadows, however. Had the soldiers chanced upon this campsite and been killed for their discovery? She crept forward, intending to investigate.
Snow crunched behind her.
Instincts ruling, she lunged behind a thick piling. The sound of a sword whistled through the air inches behind her. But when she turned, using the piling for cover, she saw only the emptiness of the bleak white shoreline.
She kept her sword ready. Magic, it had to be. It was almost unheard of here in the heart of the empire, where imperial mandates hypocritically forbade its use and denied its existence, but she had bumped against it a time or two.
"What do you want?" Amaranthe did not know if she addressed a person, or some wizard's minion, but it would likely not hurt to ask.
Silence.
Clothing rustled behind her. She threw herself to the side, rolled, and came up as a chunk of wood sheared off the piling. Amaranthe swung at the spot the attacker should have been, but connected with nothing.
Her gaze slid downward, though she lowered her eyelashes so her foe would not see. Maybe she could spot prints being made, even if her opponent was invisible.
There.
In the weak light, she had to strain her eyes, but the snow depressed in slow, deliberate steps. She drew some comfort from the normal boot-shaped prints; her attacker was likely human.
She stepped toward the piling and poked behind it, feigning clueless stabbing, even as she kept those footprints in the corner of her eye. The enemy circled toward her side, walking slowly enough not to make a sound. She continued jabbing in front of her until the prints grew closer. The invisible person lunged.
Amaranthe whipped her sword to the side, raking the air.
A man cursed in a foreign language. Drops of blood spattered the snow. Footsteps, loud and quick, announced a hasty retreat.
Amaranthe lunged out of the shadows, wondering how to stop the man.
A dark figure dropped from the top of the dock, landing beside her. She brought her sword up, her heart lurching, but she recognized the newcomer and almost laughed in relief.
"Sicarius. You—"
He stopped her with an upraised hand. His other hand held a throwing knife, and, after listening for a second, he hurled it toward the trail. The steel blade zipped through the falling snow.
A cry of pain ripped along the waterfront, and a man appeared. He pitched forward, landing face-first in the snow, the knife hilt quivering between his shoulder blades.
"Nice aim." Amaranthe nodded appreciation toward her comrade.
If Sicarius felt satisfaction from the throw or gratitude for her compliment he showed neither. As always, his aloof, angular features remained masked, suiting the grim black he wore from soft boots to wool cap. Only his armory of daggers and throwing knives broke the monotony of his wardrobe. He was not the type of person one wanted to run into in a dark alley. Unless he was on one's team.
"You're late." His voice was as emotionless as his face.
"How'd you know I'd be running the lake trail?" Amaranthe asked.
"Books beat you on the obstacle course this morning."
She grimaced. Though pleased he cared enough to come looking, she was chagrined she was so transparent. Did the other men know she trained extra to keep up with them at physical feats?
"I expect to lose to you," Amaranthe said, "but if I can't even beat Books, then how can I..." She stopped herself short of saying 'presume to lead the group.'
"Your words are what convinced him to train harder."
"Yes, and I'm pleased at his progress. I just wish his progress was a teeny bit behind mine."
"I see."
Too much, probably. If one whined about whether or not one was fit to lead, one probably wasn't. She lifted a hand to dismiss her comments and headed up the bank toward the body. Sicarius walked beside her, somehow gliding across the snow without a sound. He retrieved his knife, slipped a folded black kerchief from his pocket, and cleaned the blade meticulously.
"Kendorian?" Amaranthe nodded at the body.
"Yes. A shaman."
The foreigner wore buckskins rather than the factory-sewn wool garments Amaranthe had on, and the thick blond braid and pale skin were unlike the darker coloring of imperial citizens. Tattoos of snakes and rats adorned the side of his cheek and neck—the rest of his face was buried in the snow.
"He has a friend." She waved to indicate the blankets and bags.
"I saw."
While Sicarius searched for other tracks, Amaranthe knelt and rifled through the Kendorian's pockets. Nothing identified him, nor did a handy why-I'm-invading-the-empire-and-killing-soldiers note provide illumination. She checked the belongings under the dock but again found no identifying items. A small toolkit stirred her imagination though.
Sicarius returned. "No other recent prints."
"Hm. Any idea what Kendorians would be doing down here?"
Other than the ice workers chiseling out blocks for the summer trade, little activity centered around the lake in the winter. The military's ice breaking ship kept the transportation lanes open for imports and exports, but the fishing boats and canneries lay dormant.
"Something important enough to warrant killing soldiers to avoid discovery," Sicarius replied.
"Kendorians would kill our soldiers whether discovery was involved or not. The empire isn't exactly loved by neighboring nations." She stuck her hands under her armpits. Now that her body had cooled, she noticed the chill air probing her sweat-dampened clothing. "Still, most of them don't travel a thousand miles in the middle of winter for random soldier-slaying."
"We should go."
True. With the bounties on their heads, being found loitering around murdered soldiers was not a good idea.
"Agreed." Amaranthe picked up a jog again, heading for the broad street lining the waterfront. "We'll need to hurry to have a shot at finding the second Kendorian before he does... whatever it is he's planning."
Sicarius matched her pace, but the long look he slanted her suggested that was not the "go" he had in mind.
As her mind whirred with possibilities, the weariness from her run bled away. If the second man could turn himself invisible, too, he could be anywhere. It would take some lucky guessing to suss out his destination.
When they reached the ice-free channel fronting the merchant and naval docks, she slowed. Could one of the trade vessels be a target? Most ships sat dark. The gathering night and the snowfall had sent folks home for the day. Only one pier was lit up, its great steel steamship sending a few black wisps from its stacks. The Ice Cracker II must be heating the boilers in preparation to leave in the morning. Soldiers paced the dock. Crewmen strode about the deck, stowing cargo, and—
Amaranthe halted so abruptly she almost tripped. "That's it."
Sicarius turned, watching her face.
"The ice breaking ship," she explained.
"You think that's the target?"
"What else would a Kendorian be after at this time of year on the waterfront? The snow's already too high in the passes for the locomotives to plow the rail tracks. If the shipping lanes freeze over, the capital city goes without imports for the rest of the winter. Not to mention we'd be unable to get more troops in if something happened to the city. It'd be especially bad this year, since the Ice Cracker I was decommissioned last month. There aren't any other ships in the Seven Lakes that can break ice." She hammered a fist into her open palm. "That's it, it has to be."
Sicarius pulled her into the shadows of a dark warehouse. "You have no evidence."
"No, but I have this lovely hunch, and it'd be downright uncivil to ignore it."
"We have no way of knowing the Kendorian is on board," Sicarius said. "We do know there are a hundred soldiers and sailors. Maybe more. Men who would be duty-bound to shoot us if they saw us."
"I know."
"Even if the Kendorian is in there, he can turn invisible. We can't."
"I know that, too."
Two soldiers marched along the street, rifles balanced on their shoulders. Amaranthe put her hand on Sicarius's forearm and guided him into an alley.
"I know this is dangerous," she said, "probably more dangerous for you than for me—my poster just says wanted, yours says shoot on sight—but this could be a chance for both of us."
For years, he had assassinated politicians, warrior caste scions, and wealthy entrepreneurs, never for the money, always for the challenge. While she had won many victories in her adventures, her greatest might have been in convincing him the most worthy challenge was in becoming a man the emperor might one day be proud to know.
"But," Amaranthe continued, "you're going to have to be seen doing some empire-saving heroics before the emperor will consider lifting that mountain-sized bounty on your head."
"Heroics aren't my specialty," Sicarius said.
"No, but I'm partial to them." She squeezed his arm. "And I know when the current's too strong for my swimming level. I need your help for this."
A trolley clanged in the distance. A clump of snow fell from the gutters. Pale flakes gathered on Sicarius's dark shoulders.
"What's the plan?" he finally asked.
She rubbed her hands together. "I'll get on the ship, get some information, and get the crew hunting for intruders. You start looking for the Kendorian."
"How do we get on?"
"I'll go my way, you go the assassinly way."
"Assassinly?"
"You know, skulk under the docks to the ship, climb the dark side of the hull without so much as a rope, slip unnoticed onto the deck, ghost through the shadows without a sound, and surprise the enemy in the act." Amaranthe quirked a smile at him. "Isn't that your usual method?"
"I might use a rope," he said mildly.
"You didn't bring one. Also, make sure to come find me before you leave. I'm guessing getting on board will be easier than getting back off again."
"Likely."
"One more thing," Amaranthe said before Sicarius could disappear into the shadows. "You can't kill anyone."
A moment passed before he looked back at her, and she imagined an inward sigh despite the lack of expression on his face.
"Heroes don't leave trails of dead soldiers behind, no matter how practical it may be to dispose of anyone who wishes to harm you."
When he had disappeared into the shadows, Amaranthe shook the tension out of her limbs and strode toward the Ice Cracker II. On this section of the waterfront, frequent lampposts drove the shadows away, and soldiers spotted her long before she turned down the dock. The two privates standing guard at the base of the gangplank watched her coolly, rifles cradled in their arms, cutlasses hanging in their sheaths.
As she neared them, Amaranthe held her hands well away from her own blade. "I need to report an incident. Is your captain available?"
"He's busy."
"Would the knowledge that two soldiers were murdered on the trail a couple miles down un-busy him?" she asked. "Oh, and there's a dead Kendorian, too. Looks like he might have done the murdering."
The two men exchanged concerned looks, but the speaker merely said, "You'd need to report that to someone at Fort Urgot. We're detached to the Ice Cracker and don't patrol the city."
"It's snowing and dark. I'm not running five miles to the fort. I just thought I'd try to help you boys out. It looks like someone inimical is around causing trouble."
Amaranthe turned to walk away, but a hand clamped onto her shoulder.
"Who are you and what were you doing out there in the first place?"
"I was jogging," she said, intentionally ignoring the first question. She doubted anyone was going to recognize her through the snow and wan lighting, but her name might set their steam clocks to whistling.
"With a sword?"
"One never knows when one might have to defend against..." Bounty hunters? Soldiers? Enforcers? "Opossums."
Judging from the matching scowls that blossomed on their faces, they did not appreciate her humor. The soldier who had grabbed her arm shoved her toward the other.
"Remove her sword and take her to the LT. She's all kinds of suspicious."
Amaranthe tamped down a smile as she was marched up the gangplank. Step one, get on the ship, was complete.
* * * * *
The wardroom might have been a decent place to spend time, if Amaranthe's wrist was not shackled to a post. She sat in the one chair she could reach, tracing the whorls on a teak table, the only piece of wood in sight. Brass kerosene lamps hung on the walls, casting yellow reflections on the ubiquitous bland steel surrounding her. The scent of lye soap added to the sterile feel.
The main hatch creaked open. Two bulky grunts strode in and assumed guard positions to either side of the entrance. A graying man with gold bar-and-sail pins on his collar followed. He had a cleft chin, intense brown eyes, and a nose sharp enough to break ice without the aid of his ship.
Amaranthe stood. "Greetings, Captain. I came to discuss—"
He slid a sheet of paper onto the table before her. Her wanted poster. The guards murmured to each other, and one eyed her with calculation.
"—something of more importance than that," she finished.
"I'll bet." Though chilly, the captain's voice was not hostile, and his dark eyes seemed to be weighing her. "We found the bodies you mentioned. There was no sign of any Kendorian."
Amaranthe's stomach went for a swim amongst the table legs. The second Kendorian must have circled back and hidden his comrade's body. That was bad, very bad. That meant—
"My XO thinks we should shoot you outright. He suspects you of slaying the men yourself, especially since your wanted poster says you traffic with that cur-licking soldier-slaying assassin, Sicarius." The captain glowered at her, brow furrowed.
She kept her chin up and met his eyes. "But you know I wouldn't have been foolish enough to turn myself over to your guards if that were the case."
The captain snorted. "Perhaps you are a diversion while Sicarius sneaks aboard my ship to attempt some sabotage." He thrust a finger toward her nose. "If my commanders learned that fiend was within a mile of my ship and I didn't shoot him, I could be accused of treason and booted out of the service. I'd lose my warrior caste title, my military rank, my home, my land, everything." A flash of real fear haunted his eyes.
Amaranthe grimaced in sympathy. "Sicarius isn't the one you need to be worried about. I'm here because I don't want to see some scheming Kendorian sink this ship. I believe one may be aboard even now."
"The Ice Cracker II is unsinkable," the captain growled. "Its reversible steam piston engine has redundant screw repellers in case of failure, and the reinforced steel hull can smash through ice over two meters thick. It can withstand more than two thousand pounds of pressure per square inch along the waterline. If we ran into a rock, the rock would be pulverized, and there wouldn't be a scratch on the bottom of my girl."
"It sounds like a significant upgrade to the Ice Cracker I." Amaranthe leaned against the pole, attempting to look casual. She had chanced upon his passion, and nobody liked to talk as much as someone discussing his passion.
"Drastically. That moldy tub was made of wood with only the bottom reinforced with iron. It's a wonder it didn't sink years ago. Though only that drunk lout, Captain Mekam, could ram his ship into a cliff on a lake."
"Cliff? The newspapers said the ship was decommissioned."
"The papers don't—" The captain frowned at her, eyes narrowed.
"Was it an accident? Ineptitude?" Amaranthe knew the captain had realized he was saying too much, but hoped she might squeeze another drop out regardless. "Or maybe the Kendorians were at work even then."
"Or maybe you're about to spend the night in the brig." The captain gestured for the guards to take her and stalked out.
Amaranthe barely noticed as the soldiers unlocked her and marched her out the hatch, her arms clamped in their hands. Her mind dwelled on that new information. The Ice Cracker I, not decommissioned, but destroyed. What if—
"How're we going to do this?" one of her escorts asked, voice low.
"We'll split it. Gotta make it look like she tried to escape."
Emperor's eternal warts, her soldiers were going to get greedy instead of taking her to the brig. She eyed the bleak gray corridors, textured flooring, hanging lanterns, and intermittent ladders and hatches. Sicarius would be aboard by now, but he would be hunting for the Kendorian, not looking to rescue her in some random passageway.
"This is good. Nobody's around." The men slowed. "Get your sword out. We'll—"
"Are you really intending to risk your careers for a chance at my meager 10,000 ranmya bounty?" Amaranthe asked, hoping a little chitchat might distract them.
An alcove ahead held a bucket of sand, an axe, and a hand pump. Though she wondered what there was that could possibly burn on the metal ship, the firefighting station offered hope.
"Hush, woman."
"10,000 is a lot. And ain't nobody going to object to your death."
"10,000 isn't enough to live on for more than a couple years, and you have to split it, right? A mere 5,000 each." She stopped to trade looks with them. In truth, she just wanted to take a break in front of that axe. "What you really need to do is get Sicarius. He's worth millions."
"Naw, too dangerous. He's a sincere killer."
"He's on the ship. It wouldn't be hard to set something up."
She had their full attention now. The axe was in reach, if she could just get a hand free.
"He trusts me," she said. "I could easily set a trap. I wouldn't dare go against him alone, but with help...”
"Maybe we could—" one of the soldiers started.
"No, don't be stupid," his comrade said. "Sicarius would kill us easier than spit."
She twisted her neck to look behind them. "Then you'll be concerned that he's standing behind you."
The soldiers' eyes bulged, and they whirled about. She yanked her arms free. She grabbed the bucket and threw the sand just as they turned back and reached for her. Their arms flailed. They cursed as grit pelted their eyes.
Amaranthe snatched the axe and swung at the closest soldier. She turned her wrists and struck with the flat of the blade. It thudded against the man's head. As he dropped, she tore his cutlass free. He struck the floor and clutched at his head, oblivious. She released the axe in favor of the lighter weapon.
The other soldier recovered from the sand barrage and unsheathed his own blade as well as his pistol. He opened his mouth, but she did not have time for conversation now. She sidestepped and kicked the pistol out of his grip.
Cutlass leading, she lunged and slashed, hoping to catch him by surprise. As a soldier, he would have had hours of drills pounded into him, though, and he parried easily. Reluctantly, she settled in for the obligatory exchange where they gauged each other's strengths and weaknesses. Someone could turn down the corridor any moment, and now that she was armed, soldiers would not be her allies.
His cutlass flashed toward her head. She recognized the feint—even with his greater arm length, his lunge would not bring him close—and only dropped her own blade in anticipation of a second attack. Steel screeched as cutlasses met before her thigh.
She used the momentum of the rebound to riposte, flicking at his wrist. A line of blood appeared in his flesh.
Though the small wound could not have hurt much, his eyes flickered with surprise. It was too small a victory to celebrate triumph, but first blood was often enough to rattle an opponent.
Attacking with more care, the soldier pressed her with additional strikes. He had reach and strength, but she had sparred often with Sicarius. Parrying his lightning strikes made everyone else's blade thrusts seem molasses-like.
The soldier was careful not to leave himself open, and she parried and gave ground, studying him, waiting for an advantage. He cycled through a handful of combination attacks, and they soon became predictable.
Someone moved behind him, and she winced. Amaranthe had to finish this before the second soldier got back into the fray.
When the high slash toward her head came again, she was ready before he fully launched it. She ducked, tossing out a parry in case his blade came down, and darted in close. She sliced her cutlass against his ribcage, even as she continued past and came out behind him.
He grunted with pain and started to turn toward her, but she launched a sidekick that could have busted down a door. His boots left the ground as he sailed backward. His head struck one of the hanging lanterns. It broke, and he went down amongst shattering glass.
Amaranthe whirled, expecting the second soldier. The black-clad figure standing before her was no soldier though.
"I trust you, and you could easily set a trap for me?" Sicarius held out her short sword, eyebrows arched.
She grinned. "Even these two shrubs weren't buying that. They must know you sleep with your knives."
She dropped the cutlass, belted on the familiar blade, and glanced around him at the second soldier. The prone man was more unconscious than she had left him; she hoped he was not dead.
Amaranthe knelt to truss her soldier, intending to use his bootlaces to bind ankles and wrists.
"Don't bother," Sicarius said. "We have to go. Now."
"Why? Did you find the—"
"The engineers are dead, the safety valves on all four boilers have been tampered with, and the Kendorian is down there shoveling coal into the furnaces."
Amaranthe stared. "Why didn't you—"
"There's a trap at the door. I watched two soldiers run in and get incinerated by flames. There's no way into the boiler room right now."
"Show me." Amaranthe started past him, heading for the closest ladder, but he gripped her elbow.
"This isn't worth risking your life for," Sicarius said.
She turned and looked him in the eyes. "Hundreds will die if this ship explodes. And what happens if the city can't import food for the rest of the winter? There are a million people in the capital. Local stores aren't enough to feed everyone." Again, she tried to step toward the ladder, but he did not release her. She might as well have been bound by steel.
"We'll survive."
A frustrated rant leapt to her lips, but, cursed ancestors, there was no time for arguing. He said so himself. Grasping for calm, she spoke evenly: "Let me go."
Even now, his face was unreadable. Only those dark eyes held extra intensity. A heartbeat passed—it seemed like hours—and he released her.
Amaranthe sprinted for the ladder. Ignoring the rungs, she slid down to the bottom of the ship. Heat bathed her as she stepped into the corridor. She expected to run into crew and soldiers, but the lanterns on the walls illuminated an empty passageway.
The chugging and clanking of machinery led her to the engine room. At the hatchway, she passed the first body: a man in a gray engineer's smock, throat cut, his blood pooled on the deck.
Nine-tenths of the crew did not know there was a problem; the other tenth was dead. Great.
She raced through the engine room, a jungle of colored pipes, gauges, and machinery. A railing surrounded the churning pistons of the engine. More corpses clogged the twisting walkways.
Two blackened bodies blocked the hatchway leading to the boiler room. Only the dead men's boots, which stuck out toward Amaranthe, had not been marked. Such intense fire had charred their clothing and features that little more than melted lumps remained. The smell of roasted flesh rose above the odors of machine oil and burning coal.
A hand landed on her shoulder. She jumped, but it was only Sicarius. He did not say anything, but she would have had trouble hearing over the machinery anyway.
He crouched, removed one of the dead men's boots, and tossed it. A curtain of crimson flames flashed across the hatchway. Heat poured out and light flared. Amaranthe stumbled back, shielding her face with her arms. The boot was incinerated.
When the flames disappeared, leaving only a border of glowing red along the bulkhead and floor, she waited for Sicarius to voice an I-told-you-so. He merely watched her. Expectantly. He must think she had an idea, for why else would she insist on racing down here? She smiled bleakly.
It took a few seconds for the crimson borders to dim and wink out, leaving the bulkhead with no signs of a trap.
"Huh," she muttered.
Amaranthe unlaced two more boots, forcing her mind away from the grisly knowledge that she was disrobing some poor engineer who had been living but moments before. She tossed the first boot. The fire curtain burst forth. As soon as the hatchway grew dark again, she threw the second boot. It flew through and landed on the other side.
She and Sicarius exchanged significant looks.
Only when the border faded, heartbeats later, did the trap reset. Sicarius removed the last boot and nodded for her to stand beside him. He tossed it, waited for the flames to come and go, and they jumped through together.
Though she feared there would be other traps—or they would run into the invisible saboteur—she ran to the first pair of boilers. Pipes rattled, gauges quivered, and needles pushed into the red. There was no time for caution.
Steel squealed just behind her. Amaranthe spun, sword ready.
Sicarius landed in a crouch, a dagger in each hand, and a pair of buckskin fringes wafted to the floor. The Kendorian must have attacked.
"Find the blow off valves," Sicarius yelled over the clamoring machinery. He glided into position at her back. "I'm here."
How could one defeat—or even defend against—an invisible foe? Especially here, where noise and smell drowned out the other senses? He would have to figure it out.
She spotted the safety valve on the first boiler, and her shoulders slumped. Warped and melted metal made the handle inoperable. For a lost moment, she stared at the tangle of pipes, gauges, and wheels. Heat roared from the furnace, and sweat beaded on her forehead. Why couldn't there be a blessed engineer alive?
Sicarius brushed her back, and someone cried out. A bevy of Kendorian curses followed. She glanced back to see Sicarius lunge. Despite his speed, he connected with nothing.
A nearby wall held another firefighting station. Amaranthe spotted the axe.
"Back in a second," she said to Sicarius.
She sprinted over and grabbed the axe. If she couldn't engineer a solution, brute force might work. She ran back, tool raised. As soon as she reached the boiler, she smashed the warped valve.
Steam burst free, and she barely threw herself to the side before it blistered her face. It worked, though, and the gauge's needle dropped out of the red.
"Got one," Amaranthe said.
She darted toward the second boiler, but tripped over something she could not see. Lightning flashed and an electrical force pounded her. Energy crackled about her. Agony tore through her body, and she dropped the axe, crumpling to her knees.
As abruptly as the pain came, it disappeared. Sicarius rolled past, grappling with their invisible assailant.
Amaranthe shook off the attack, snatched the axe, and launched herself at the second valve.
"Two of them," Sicarius barked.
Amaranthe smashed the valve. Again, steam whooshed out, parting around an invisible figure. It lunged toward Amaranthe.
She whipped the axe across, hoping to keep the attacker at bay. The heavy blade slammed into flesh with a moist meaty thump.
A scream buffeted Amaranthe's ears, and she released the axe. The invisibility spell flickered out. A blonde woman collapsed. She struck the floor, gasping, curling around the axe head lodged in her gut.
Movement pulled Amaranthe's gaze to the side. A Kendorian male lay on his back, a dagger protruding from his chest.
Sicarius rolled to his feet with a second blade in his hand. He sliced the woman's throat.
"The other boilers," Amaranthe remembered, forcing her gaze from the dying Kendorian.
Sicarius tore the axe free and finished the task. Legs rubbery, Amaranthe walked around to each boiler, double checking gauges to make sure the threat was over. She pushed damp strands of hair out of her eyes with trembling hands. Sicarius appeared as calm as ever, though sweat dampened his hair. She tried to catch his eye to give him a nod of thanks, but he faced the other direction, a throwing knife in hand.
Amaranthe stepped around a boiler, and the hatchway came into view. "Cursed ancestors," she groaned.
With the Kendorians' deaths, the trap had disappeared.
The captain stood in the hatchway, pistol aimed at Sicarius. A squad of men had entered and fanned out on either side, swords ready, firearms raised. All weapons focused on Sicarius.
Though she was not sure it would stop anyone from shooting, she stepped in front of him, arms spread. She met the captain's eyes. How much had the men seen? Did they know she and Sicarius had saved the ship? Even if they did, would it matter?
The captain closed his eyes for a long moment, then told his men, "Lower your weapons."
"Sir?" a nervous corporal squeaked, his wide eyes toward Sicarius.
"You heard me," the captain said. "Lower your weapons and step aside from the hatch."
Amaranthe swallowed, emotion choking her throat. With this many witnesses, there was no way the captain's superiors would fail to learn he had let Sicarius go.
She waved for him to sheath his weapons, and slowly, very slowly, they started for the hatch. For Sicarius to walk past armed soldiers, leaving them at his back, must have gone against every instinct ingrained in him, but he did. He and Amaranthe made it to the captain without incident.
"Thank you," she murmured as they passed.
"Thank you." He looked at her, at Sicarius, and back at her. "Just don't make me regret giving up..." A muscle jumped in his jaw.
"I'll do my best, sir," she said.
* * * * *
Snow sifted from the heavens. A pile rested atop the trolley stop sign. Amaranthe's watch promised they were in time for the last run of the night. The flame in a nearby streetlamp sputtered and hissed.
She watched Sicarius survey their surroundings. Even with the streets empty and the city silent, he remained vigilant. He had not spoken since the fight in the boiler room, and she wondered what he thought of the night. Even his 'heroics' had ruined a man's career. Perhaps he never would escape his past. Still, they had helped the city, and she had to believe word would get back to the emperor one way or another.
To lighten his mood, or perhaps hers, she waited until his back was to her, then swept the snow off the sign and patted it into a tidy ball. She chucked it, grinning at the thought of a satisfying splat.
Just before it hit, Sicarius blurred into motion. She was barely conscious of him evading the projectile before a snowball splattered against her chest.
"I asked for that, didn't I?" she groaned, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Cocky to think I could surprise you."
Sicarius strolled over and leaned against the post next to her. "You do know that whether you outrun, outfight, or out-snowball-throw your men is irrelevant, correct?"
Amaranthe tilted her head toward him, eyebrows raised.
"That you concoct, and lead the way into, crazy schemes that not only succeed but make us look like better men than we are... that is why we follow you."
She dropped her chin and brushed the snow off her sweater in order to hide the flush creeping into her cheeks. Hugging him for the compliment probably would not be professional, so she merely said, "Crazy, huh?"
"Utterly."
The trolley chugged into view, a plow at the head churning snow off the track.
"As far as the obstacle course is concerned," Sicarius added as it slowed for their stop, "strength exercises and footwork drills would help more than endurance training."
"Oh? Perhaps tomorrow afternoon we could—"
"Start at dawn."
She groaned again. "I asked for that, didn't I?"
THE END
EXCERPT from THE EMPEROR’S EDGE
If you enjoyed this story, try The Emperor’s Edge, a full-length novel featuring Amaranthe and Sicarius.
* * * * *
Amaranthe woke in the middle of the night with her heart slamming against her ribs. Fleeting memories of a nightmare dissipated like plumes of smoke from a steam engine. All she remembered was something dark chasing her, emitting a horrible, unearthly screech.
The sound came again. She frowned with confusion as dream and reality mixed. Had the screech been real or was she still sleeping?
She sat up on the cot. The wool blanket pooled around her waist. Darkness blanketed the room, though she could feel heat radiating from the nearby stove. She sat motionless and listened.
At first, she heard nothing. Deep in the industrial district, the icehouse neighborhood saw little traffic at night, and silence stretched through the streets like death. Then another screech shattered the quiet. Amaranthe cringed involuntarily; it jarred her nerves like metal gouging metal. An eerily supernatural quality promised it was nothing so innocuous. And it originated nearby, within a block or two.
Thinking of the bear-mauling story in the paper, Amaranthe slid off the cot, reluctant to make any noise. She managed to thump her knee against the desk. So much for not making noise. She groped for the lantern and turned up the flame. The light revealed her neat pile of boots, business clothing, knife, and the box containing her savings. She tugged on the footwear, then grabbed the weapon and lantern. When she opened the door, it creaked. Loudly. She hissed at it in frustration.
On the landing, she glanced around, hoping Sicarius would step out of the shadows. The vastness of the dark warehouse mocked her tiny light. The floor was not visible from the landing. When Amaranthe leaned over the railing, her light reflected off exposed ice, mimicking dozens of yellow eyes staring at her.
Another inhuman screech cut through the walls of the icehouse. It echoed through the streets and alleys outside, surrounding and encompassing. In the distance, dogs barked. The hair on her arms leapt to attention. She shivered and clenched the handle of the lantern more tightly.
“Help!” came a male voice from outside. “Anyone!”
The nearby cry startled Amaranthe. It sounded like the speaker was directly in front of the icehouse.
She crossed the landing, her boots ringing on the metal. A pounding erupted at the double doors below.
“Is someone there?” the voice called.
“On my way!” Amaranthe hustled down the stairs.
He had to be trying to escape whatever was hunting the streets. The doors rattled on their hinges.
“It’s coming!” he shouted.
Amaranthe took the last stairs three at a time. She slid on sawdust when she landed at the bottom, recovered, and ran to the doors. She reached for the heavy wooden bar securing them.
A deafening screech sounded right outside. Amaranthe jerked back.
On the other side of the door, the man shrieked with pain. She wanted to help, to lift the bar, but fear stilled her hand. Armed only with a knife, what could she do?
Coward, you have to try.
She yanked her knife from its sheath. Outside, the cries broke off with a crunch. She reached for the bar again.
“Stop.”
She froze at the authoritative tone of Sicarius’s voice.
“Someone’s dying out there,” she said, more out of a sense of obligation than a genuine desire to open the door.
Sicarius walked out of the darkness beneath the stairs. If he had been sleeping, it was not evident. He was fully dressed and armed.
“He’s already dead,” Sicarius said.
Amaranthe forced her breathing to slow and listened for activity. She had a feeling Sicarius was right.
Footsteps crunched on the snow outside, but they did not sound human. They were too heavy. The crunching stopped, and snuffling replaced it. The door shuddered as something bumped it. Amaranthe backed away. The snuffling came again, louder and more insistent.
She continued backing up until she stood beside Sicarius.
“Are we safe in here?” she whispered.
“No.”
“Oh.” Better to know now than later, I suppose.
The door shuddered again, louder this time.
“It’s coming in, isn’t it?” she asked.
“So it seems.”
Amaranthe searched for escape routes. If she ran up the stairs and climbed onto the railing, she might be able to pull herself up into the rafters. From there, she could crawl along the network of steel beams and supports to the high windows. If she performed an amazing acrobatic feat, she might be able to kick out the glass, then swing out and climb onto the roof. Good, Amaranthe, that works for Sicarius. Now how are you going to get out?
She remembered the grates and the stacks of ice stored beneath the floor. She shoved aside sawdust and found an entrance. The inset handle required a twist and pull that only someone with thumbs could open. She hoped that thing out there had nothing of the sort.
“You coming?” she asked over her shoulder.
“It’s cramped down there; a poor place to make a stand.” Sicarius’s gaze drifted toward her, then toward the windows and up the stairs, as if he sought an alternative.
The creature slammed against the door. A hinge popped off. Wood splintered. Only the bar kept the door standing. And that would not hold long.
“Fine,” Amaranthe said. “Let me know how it goes up here.”
She grabbed the lantern and climbed down the ladder. She paused to close the grate. Sicarius appeared and caught it before it fell. He waved for her to continue down, then slipped in and secured the grate behind him.
“I thought you might change your mind,” she said.
A crash came from above—the sound of the bar shattering and the door collapsing. Feet or paws or something like padded through the sawdust.
Amaranthe wished she knew what the creature looked like, specifically if it had digits that would allow it to turn the handle to their hideout. Or if its strength might let it rip the grates open without bothering with a handle. She shivered. Maybe she should have tried the window route.
There was not much room between the stacks of ice and the wall. A block pressed against her shoulder and numbed her arm. She wished she had grabbed her parka.
The footsteps altered pitch as the creature moved from solid floor to the grate. Tiny flecks of sawdust sifted through. With the darkness above, Amaranthe could not see anything through the tiny gaps in the metal. She could only hear the creature. Sniffing.
Sicarius faced the entrance, his back to her and the lantern. Neither of them spoke, though there was little point in silence. It knew where they were.
The scrape of claws on metal replaced the sniffing. Slow and experimental at first, the noise then grew faster, like a dog digging under a fence.
When claws slipped between the gaps in the grate, she sucked in a breath. It was the span between them that unsettled her. No animal she had ever seen had paws that large.
She lowered her eyes and stared at Sicarius’s back, the steady expansion and contraction of his rib cage. The air felt tight and constricting, and her own breaths were shallow and fast. She tried to emulate his calm. After all, he had not drawn a weapon. Maybe he knew they were safe. Or maybe he knew fighting the creature was pointless.
Above, the clawing stopped. Nothing moved.
A soft splatter to Amaranthe’s right made her jump. At first she thought it had come from the ice above, a drop melting. But it steamed when it hit a block. Another drop struck the back of her hand. As hot as candle wax, it stung like salt in a cut. Not melted ice, she realized. Saliva.
Slowly, she looked up. More drops filtered down. Puffs of steam whispered through the grate—the creature’s breath, visible in the chill air. Two yellow dots burned on the other side of that fog. Eyes reflecting the flame of her lantern.
Amaranthe sank into a crouch and buried her face in her knees. She closed her eyes, willing the thing to go away. A drop of hot saliva hit the back of her neck.
Time seeped by like molasses. The footsteps finally started up again. They padded away and moved beyond the range of her ears.
For several long moments, she and Sicarius hunkered there, between the wall and the ice. The cold bit through Amaranthe’s night clothes. Her teeth chattered and she shivered. She held her hands close to the lantern, but it gave off little heat.
“Is it gone?” she asked.
“Impossible to tell,” he said.
“Well, I’m freezing. Either one of us is going to have to check or we’ll have to start cuddling.”
Sicarius climbed the ladder. He opened the grate, peered out, then disappeared over the edge.
“There’s something wrong with a man who chooses to face death over cuddling with a woman.” Amaranthe grabbed the lantern and followed him out. “Of course, there may be something equally wrong with a woman who goes after him instead of waiting in safety.”
Once up top, she left the grate open in case they needed to jump back down in a hurry. She looked for Sicarius, but her light did not illuminate much of the icehouse. Snow falling outside the broken-down door caught her eye. The body had been dragged to the side, and only an arm remained in view. Amaranthe swallowed.
“It’s not inside,” Sicarius said.
He stepped out from behind the ice stacks carrying a couple of boards. He resealed the door as much as the warped hinges would allow. The splintered wood did not make a reassuring barrier. Sicarius threw the old bar—now snapped in half—to the side and replaced it with the boards.
“Maybe we should go out and check on that man. See if...” He’s dead Amaranthe. You were too late to help.
“I wouldn’t,” Sicarius said.
He was as cool and emotionless as ever, but his unwillingness to leave the building concerned her. If, with all his skill, he did not want to confront whatever stalked the streets, who else could?
* * * * *
Thank you for reading! You can grab The Emperor’s Edge at Smashwords, Barnes & Noble, Amazon, and other ebook retailers. You can also read the first couple of chapters on the author’s site.